


Wedding Crashers

by F-117 Nighthawk (F117_Nighthawk)



Series: Dark Matter [23]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bombs, Conspiracy, Ezor makes an appearance, Foreshadowing, Galra Keith (Voltron), Keep Talking and Nobody Explodes - Freeform, Keith & Shiro (Voltron) are Adoptive Siblings, M/M, Mind Meld, Queerplatonic Keith/Lance (Voltron), Queerplatonic Relationships, Shapeshifting, Terrorism, Weddings, and badly hiding it, and it was never used again, does comparing things to hydra count as a subset of godwin's law, does this still count as a reverse heist?, hey everyone remember that time that Allura got to shapeshift for one episode, nothing bad actually happens they avert it, stopping terrorist is what Paladins are for, that ones for klance fyi, this was supposed to be like a sitcom and then ended up not only serious but very foreshadowy lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28280310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/F117_Nighthawk/pseuds/F-117%20Nighthawk
Summary: In which there is a wedding, Keith and Lance discover the latest in diabolical plots, Coran and Veronica play Keep Talking and Nobody Explodes, Ezor goes fishing, and Hunk, Pidge, and Allura play hot potato. Also, Matt discovers that the newlyweds have even less of a mind for dates than he thought, Krolia accidentally provides one hell of a distraction, and a shoe goes missing.(A companion to chapter eight ofCarry Me Home)
Relationships: Adam & Keith (Voltron), Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Allura & Coran & Hunk & Keith & Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt & Shiro, Keith/Lance (Voltron), Lance & Veronica (Voltron)
Series: Dark Matter [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/797976
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Wedding Crashers

**Author's Note:**

> OH Boy this took. So long. The basic idea has always been there but I kept switching some details around and I forced myself to stop messing with it until I finished the To the Morning Light. And then the semester ended and I _immediately_ started playing Mass Effect again like I've wanted to since N7 day and the announcement... anyway. I finally finished. There's still parts I'm not entirely happy with but when is that not true and I just need to get this Out.  
> This is probably best read along with [To the Morning Light](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27396034/chapters/69302433) in some fashion! If you want to attempt to read every part chronologically I tried to make sure the parts had reference points.

Lance jumps when the door to the common room somehow manages to slam open. “Emergency meeting!” Veronica shouts as she stalks in, “And don’t you _dare_ call Adam or Shiro!”

“Dios, Vero, what the hell?”

She slaps her datapad down on the table, fixing him and Pidge, who has barely bothered to look up from her own datapad, with a _look._ “We have a problem.”

“Yeah, I think I picked that up, so what _is_ it?”

“Nope, I am sticking as close to the book as I can here in case this manages to blow up in my face.”

Lance gapes at her for a moment, arms flailing. Pidge rolls her eyes and taps something on her datapad. “So you’re just going to barge in here yelling about an emergency and _not tell me?”_

“I need to tell the _Black Paladin_ if I’m not just taking this to Adam, and since there is _no_ way I’m taking this to Shiro, I need you to call your partner up here ASAP.”

Lance huffs. “You’re going to tell all of us anyway. If you weren’t, you’d have just gone to the training room. So come onnnnnnn, tell me what the hell is going on.”

“Did you miss the part about by the book? Unlike you, I _have_ read it.”

“What book?” Allura says from the doorway, Coran trailing behind her. “Does it have to do with why I was told to come up here?”

Veronica looks from Allura to Lance. “You know, I’ve been around it for almost two years, and that’s still fucking freaky.”

Lance smirks at her. “Freakiness that had Keith and Krolia on their way up before you even told me you were _only talking in the presence of the Black Paladin.”_

“And Hunk’s like ten seconds that way,” Pidge adds, jerking a thumb to one of the other doors.

Right on cue, Hunk walks through, peering at some device in his hands. “Right, I’m here. Excuse the half-built quintessence sensor; Vanab wanted a second opinion, but Sama said there was an emergency, and I sort of forgot to put it down.”

Veronica rolls her eyes. “Fine, tell everyone through your instant brain messaging, as long as you can _hide it from Shiro.”_

“I’m sure you’ve been insistent enough Kuro won’t let it through, but could you at least tell us _what is going on?”_

“How far away is Keith?”

Lance flicks his eyes to the door Veronica burst through earlier just before it opens. Krolia situates herself against the wall by the door while Keith glances around the assembly, purple eyes settling on Veronica. “Alright, what’s the problem?”

Veronica grumbles about freaky mind meld stuff under her breath and picks her datapad back up. “It’s not going to be fun.”

“I wasn’t expecting fun when Scarlet dragged me out of a training session,” Keith drawls. His face is still slightly flushed from exertion, pink cheeks contrasted by the purple slashing down them. 

“Yeah, I don’t think we’ve ever had an emergency meeting end in fun.”

“Well, this is especially bad.”

The Paladins glance at each other, cheeks puffed out and jaws tensed against the noises that threaten to break free. Pidge cracks first, sending the rest of them into peals of hard-edged laughter. “Vero,” Lance manages to wheeze out, “nothing is ‘especially bad’ since Haggar first threw us through dimensions while half-dead, so please, _please_ tell me what is ‘especially bad.’”

Veronica gives him a frown. “I’m concerned about this reaction, but we can talk about it later. Right now, there’s this.” She flicks her datapad at the wall, and it lights up, revealing a set of names, a date, and several words he can’t quite figure out. “This is ESAU intel,” she continues, turning to face them all. “It’s got Éskhayklos movements, personnel and materiel, some comms we managed to decode, and, worst of all, the date and location of one of their next targets.”

Lance flicks his gaze over the wall, taking in all the information he can until the date and location catch his eye, and he winces. “Yeah, okay, that’s pretty bad.”

“See why you’re not allowed to mind-call Shiro?”

Given that the date and location place the probable attack not only later that day but _at Adam and Shiro’s wedding,_ he can tell.

* * *

Lance slips in between Allura and Coran, fidgeting with the cuffs of his jacket. “Any movement?” he whispers.

“Nothing so far,” Coran answers, peering at the display projected on his own sleeve. “We’re still at least an hour from when Veronica found. I think. Your Earth time is still confusing.”

Lance twists to look over Coran’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, it took us _years_ to get used to Daibaaltean Standard. We’ve got about two hours. Suppose it makes sense they’d be targeting the reception.”

“I’m still wondering _why.”_

Lance glances up at Allura with a shrug. “There’s going to be people from all over. I know Ryner landed yesterday, and Tarinya, Romelle, and Bandor have been wandering Earth with wide eyes for almost a week. Even Lotor’s showing up, and he’s busy as hell with the new Republic. If you were an anti-alien terrorist network, where else would you attack?”

“But surely they are aware of our security? With so much of the Coalition’s leadership here, not to mention all of Voltron, we’ve certainly not been lax. We’ve got a large number of Blades, various factions of the rebel fleet that volunteered, and that’s not even mentioning the five Lions currently hovering in the stratosphere. Why would they bother?”

“Look, I don’t claim to be able to make sense of terrorists. I just know that while we’re not exactly sitting pretty, last year’s attack on the anniversary banquet seems like a good example of the fact that they don’t particularly care.”

“Who doesn’t particularly care?” comes another voice. The three of them turn towards it, revealing Matt Holt slowing to a stop next to them. He’s wearing the Voltron-customized Garrison uniform, even though he hasn’t officially rejoined after the Siege, silver stitching outlining the Voltron symbol on his cuffs, and marthuzitok weave running through the fabric. Matt raises an eyebrow, glancing between the two Paladins and Coran, who fumblingly switches off his arm display.

The three of them look at each other, engaged in a rapid-fire communication that consists of raised eyebrows, jerked nods, and vague gestures they’ve built up over seven years of war. It ends with Coran nodding and tapping his display back on. Allura takes a deep breath. “Matt, if we tell you, you have to promise not to tell Shiro or Adam unless absolutely necessary.”

“That’s not ominous.”

“Tell that to Vero,” Lance drawls. He glances over at where Veronica has just appeared at the end of the short aisle, engulfing Adam in a hug before starting to make her way up to the front. “You know about ESAU, right?”

“Only what I’ve picked up from Pidge and Dad. Something something anti-terrorism task force that Adam and Veronica head.”

“Veronica picked up some intel that points to the Éshkayklos planning another attack.”

Matt nods in understanding. “And you don’t want them messing up Adam and Shiro’s big day. So, what, just need to keep them away from the media?”

Allura moves one hand in a so-so motion. “Yes, but, ah--the suspected location… is here.”

Matt’s mouth almost hits the grass. _“Seriously?_ And we’re not _moving?”_

“What else are we supposed to do!? Veronica only got the intel this morning, and the weather is absolutely perfect, so there’s no excuse for us to move to the secondary location.”

“I think we could at the very least _tell them_ that the party’s probably going to get crashed.”

“Tell them _what?”_ Lance sighs, “‘Hey, you can’t have your wedding because we found out six hours before it that there’s an eighty percent chance terrorists are going to attack it?’ That will go over well. Especially since the Éskhayklos have no idea we broke that code. Matt, I don’t even remember the last time Voltron was at a party that didn’t get blown up in some form or another, so if we can make this one _not_ blow up and _still happen,_ I’ll consider it the best Voltron mission ever.”

“We do have a plan,” Coran adds, “Jade is cloaked and hovering directly over the park, monitoring for any suspicious movement. The other four Lions are in a holding pattern above, ready at a moment’s notice. We’ll know if, when, and how they get here before they have a chance to take more than one step. And, on _top_ of all the Blade presence and Garrison security, our two fastest Paladins are on standby for butt-kicking purposes! This party will not be crashed!”

Matt sighs but acquiesces. “Fine, the party won’t be crashed if we can help it. So why did you bother telling me if you have it under control?”

“Well,” Allura says, “we could always use more potential distractions for the happy couple, so they don’t notice Keith and Lance’s absence.”

Lance spots Keith waving at him from the stairs, which means that Shiro has undoubtedly arrived. “Speaking of the happy couple, we should sit down.”

* * *

The reception is in full swing by the time Pidge hisses a warning over the comms. Lance is standing with Keith and Veronica off to the side of the big tent, trying not to look like he’s scanning the crowd. “We’ve got movement in the southeast. Jade can see guns, and they don’t look like Garrison-issue.”

“Copy that. Are we going to check out or stab?”

“Check first, but I recommend being quick about it, Paladins,” Coran answers. He and Allura are on the other side of the party, acting as some sort of cultural translators for the Altean remnant in attendance. “There are some odd readings coming from a few of their weapons. They don’t look like Earth tech.”

Hunk’s voice cuts in before Lance can answer. “Confirm on that. The readings have _way_ too much quintessence to be even the Garrison’s Altean-derived weapons. Be careful.”

Lance, Keith, and Veronica share a glance. Keith nods, tapping his comm. “Sneak and snipe confirmed. Kuro on standby for movement in--”

“Hey, wait a second, Keith. If you use Kuro to teleport over there, won’t Shiro notice? Or like, anyone else? It’s a giant flash of light.”

Both Paladins blink at Veronica for a moment. “It’s only a giant flash of light when I want it to be,” Keith tells her. Veronica looks confused, but Keith is clearly not in the mood for explaining the intricacies of suppressing the visual effects of the navarea right now because he continues: “And as for Shiro, I’m not sure how much he would even care to talk to Kuro right now.”

“Better safe than sorry, though. We at least need a plan if he asks.”

Keith stares at her for a moment longer, then grins. “I’ll be right back,” he says before disappearing into the crowd. Maybe a minute later, Black reappears in the flash-blink that signals their teleportation skills, cackling and holding one of Adam’s shoes. “Here,” they say, tossing the shoe at Veronica. “You ready, Lance?”

“Black, what the _hell?”_

“Old Pakistani tradition Adam mentioned once, I’ll be happy to explain once we’re done preventing this wedding from being crashed. Come on.” They hold out a hand to him, still grinning.

Lance rolls his eyes but takes it. “Fine, querido, let’s go.”

“Alright, team, moving now.”

* * *

Teleporting will never not be weird. Even with the boost Scarlet gives him just by virtue of being connected to her, Lance still has to take a moment on his knees to make the world stop spinning. “God, why didn’t I remember to activate the navarea _before_ we jumped,” he groans, pressing his forehead to cool gravel. 

Black gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. They have no such symptoms, given the fact that their fully combined quintessence prevents them from feeling any side-effects. “Up and at ’em, Sharpshooter,” they whisper, “we’ve got an appointment to keep.”

Lance huffs and pushes himself straighter. He allows himself another moment before shifting fully into mission mode and summoning his bayard. “Orient me?”

“That way is north. We’re on top of an apartment building; down there in the back alley is the exact coordinates Jade provided. I took a peek while you were getting adjusted; I see about twenty coming out of the basement. Weapons definitely aren’t standard Garrison tech.”

“But they definitely have weapons, and not something giving off odd readings?”

“Well, unless you happen to have another reason they’re wearing flak jackets…”

Lance extends his bayard into full sniper configuration and peers down through the scope. “Confirm twenty-one targets. Flak jackets, tac pants, damn, where do they find this stuff?”

“Garrison lost track of a bunch of stuff in the Siege,” Veronica answers over the comm, “wouldn’t be surprised if it ended up on the black market.”

“Kinda wish I had my helmet,” Lance mutters, tracking one of the figures below through the alley. “Allura, can you route my directional mic function through something quieter so Keith can hear too?”

Coran is the one who answers. “Allura’s talking to the happy couple right now. You should be able to patch it into your wrist comm. I’ll see if I can do it remotely.”

The comm beeps, and a rush of static fills it for a second before an unfamiliar voice, tinny with distance, filters through. “--the vanguard, the messenger of Earth’s distress. If they don’t listen to us, they’ll listen to Cascade’s little present.”

Lance glances away from the scope with wide eyes. Black is frowning down at the people below, one hand drifting towards their bayard. “Keep listening.”

“Remember the plan. Dancer’s team is already in place and awaiting my signal. Chariot, your team will rendezvous with Cascade’s holdout and ensure the honored guests do not escape. Saturn, you’re patrolling the road between the park and the Garrison and helping Dancer. _Nothing_ gets through, and you call it in if something launches. My team, we’ll be making an entrance. Package one is primed and on countdown; package two is in place waiting for Cascade to activate it if it becomes necessary.”

“Are they talking about _bombs?”_

Black is growling under their breath in the way that always sets his teeth on edge. It’s low, almost animalistic, a promise of vengeance to any that dare piss off the Spirit of the Air, and from the looks of things, the Éskhayklos members below them have already crossed that line. “Everyone copy?” the apparent leader says. They hear a chorus of yes-sirs before Leader nods and continues. “Good. Remember, we wait for the first bomb before we go in.”

Black’s bayard coalesces at the word bomb, and they disappear from the roof before the sentence is done. Lance takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for an instant, barely the length of a blink, reaching out over the meld to the well of fire quintessence sitting in the back of his mind and latches onto the furious indignation streaming from her with his own until there is nothing but a fierce thought: **_fuck them._ **

Red opens their eyes just as Black reappears at the end of the alley, bayard in hand and full power on display. Leader gasps and stumbles back slightly, pointing a finger at them. “Y--you!” Red almost laughs at the display. It makes sense; Black doesn’t often let the navarea’s visual effects fully coalesce around them, but when they do, they tend to get compared to an avenging angel. It’s probably the wings, miniature versions of the Black Lion’s glowing so intensely with air quintessence that even non-sensitives can see them. They should know; they were the first person to see them like that, half-dead and staring down the thing that made the mistake of spacing the Spirit of the Air.

“Tell me the location of those bombs.”

Leader manages to get his wits back around him even slightly because he narrows his eyes and shouts, “Get him!”

Black smirks. “Wrong choice.”

Two mooks charge and immediately hit the ground courtesy of Red’s stun bolts. Black blips past them, appearing in front of Leader and extending their bayard to slice through the flak jackets of the two next to him. They stumble back as Black whips around and hits one with the flat of their sword, knocking her into the person next to her and sending them both unconscious to the ground. Black ducks under a shot from one of the mysterious weapons, throwing their bayard up in the process, as Red shoots the offender. Two decide to try and take advantage of Black’s seeming loss of weapon and run straight at them; the first punch lands, but the second is easily blocked and followed up on by a swift kick to the groin. Mook number two collapses in pain as Black blocks another punch and follows it up with a bear paw that sends number one crashing into the wall. Another Éskh fires at Black; smoothly, they catch their bayard in their right hand and extend it into a shield as they pull their blade from the hidden scabbard under their jacket.

The shot impacts the center of the shield and, strangely, Black hisses in what is unmistakably pain. Red tenses, pausing in lining up another shot. “Black?”

_“Fine.”_

They fire, watching Black rather than their target as they struggle to keep the shield up against two more shots. Red snipes someone coming up behind them and turns to hit the two that just fired, only to realize that the rest of the Éskh seem to have noticed Black’s struggle and are bringing their guns to bear. “Black, get _out!”_

“Not--dammit- _-ow.”_ One hits Black’s shield, and Red watches as it derezzes for an instant, another shot making its way through. Black barely manages to teleport out of the way of the rest, stumbling to a stop at the end of the alley, chest heaving. 

“Stay there,” Red growls, “and you’re _not moving_ unless you have to.”

“Yeah, okay,” they pant, stabbing their blade back into its scabbard and switching their bayard into a rifle. “I’ll cover you.”

Red stands, scanning over the ten remaining Éskhayklos for a good place to land. Leader is still standing and seems to be trying to open his comm, so Red flips their bayard into a rifle and jumps. A moment of dipping into super-speed lets them skid down the wall without worrying about not having a jetpack, ending with them crouching in a perfect three-point landing in front of Leader. His eyes widen in surprise as Red stands, aiming their rifle at a man on their right who’s aiming at them. He hits the ground as another on Leader’s right succumbs to Black’s fire. 

“Dancer, ab--” Red cuts him off with a stun bolt at the same time Black does. Black drops one more as Red dodges a knife from another. He ducks as they swing the butt of their rifle at him, stabbing upwards and forcing them to spin away before the knife hits their eye. A step back allows them the space to whip their bayard out into a sword and knock the knife out of his hands. He’s quickly put down by a hit to the temple with the hilt. The five Éskh left hesitate for just a moment, glancing between the two Paladins, before turning tail and running. Red super speeds and beats them to the end of the alley that Black isn’t stalking forward from. They give them a jaunty wave before blasting each of them.

“Well,” Red says, gazing at the carnage before them, “that went well.”

“For a definition of well.”

Red shrugs then closes their eyes and lets the meld drop back to normal. Lance raises an eyebrow when Black doesn’t do the same. “You good?”

“We can worry about me later,” they dodge, opening their comm. “Team, did you get the bit about the bombs?”

“Oh, we got it alright,” Pidge grumbles, “The only problem is _finding_ the damn things. Between five Paladin and at least half a dozen Paladin-capable quintessences standing around, finding anything with quintessence scanners is impossible even for Jade. EM won’t work either, given all the electronics buried in the park. We’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

Black sighs, hair floofing out of their eyes. “Alright. Lance and I will search the apartment building for any hints and see if we can find the secondary team. Be careful; this is a bit more serious than we thought. If you need to evacuate people, you evacuate people. And, Veronica, this is me officially alerting ESAU about Éskhayklos presence at my present coordinates.”

“Consider ESAU alerted. We’ll call if we need some swift movement.”

“Got it. Away team out.”

Black moves towards the side-door in the building, but Lance grabs their arm before they can move far. “Black.”

They look at him, glowing purple gazing into blue for an uncomfortable second before they sigh and close their eyes. Their wings fold up, and they sway in place for a moment; Keith opens his eyes and raises an eyebrow. “Better?”

“You still haven’t answered my question, so no.”

“I’m fine. Whatever those guns are… I don’t know. It didn’t feel good, I can tell you that much, but I want to get one of these to Pidge and Hunk before I try and explain it.”

“Are you absolutely sure? Because if you’re hiding something just because we’re trying to hide this from Shiro and Adam--”

“Yes. I’m _sure._ Seriously, Lance, you’re probably more hurt than me.”

“What? I’m not hurt at all.”

“You have blood on your cheek.”

Lance prods his cheek and, sure enough, comes away with bloody fingers. “I think it’s just a scrape; I didn’t even notice. I’m good to head… Aw fuck, how are we explaining that to Shiro and Adam?” 

Keith steps closer, grabbing Lance’s chin and turning him to peer at the cut. “It doesn’t look too deep. Maybe uh... I accidentally clawed you?”

Lance raises an eyebrow. _“That’s_ your story?”

“It’ll work.”

“Keithka. Mi vida. Please, _please_ think of what, _exactly,_ I would have to be doing to you, and at what angle, _in the bushes at your brother’s wedding reception,_ for you to _accidentally_ claw me at that angle.”

Keith blinks up at him before turning beet red. “Okay, maybe not that.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Maybe--maybe it’ll heal over by the time we get back? Or we can just say you did get scratched by a bush.”

Lance rolls his eyes and gently pushes at Keith’s shoulder. “Alright, alright, we’ll see what happens. Let’s get these guys inside and take a look at that apartment.”

* * *

“Bombs. _Really._ _Bombs?”_ Pidge mutters under her breath. “Okay, disregarding scanning for fire quintessence because between Zethrid, Narti, me, and Krolia, we’re completely covering half the city, then disregarding EM transmissions because _city…_ chemical scanning? I’ll try it.”

“What about just straight visuals?”

Pidge glances up at Hunk. “I thought that’s what we _were_ doing? I’m just trying to supplement and give us hotspots. I’m willing to bet the active one is somewhere around the outskirts, but who knows about the other? If ‘Cascade’ left it then Cascade is probably here or maybe left it yesterday I don’t know would they look like our general idea of an explosive Keith and Lance confirmed their guns weren’t Garrison tech so why would their other stuff be so honestly chemical tracking might not help maybe--”

Hunk holds up his hands. “Okay, slow down, Pidge, take a breath.”

Pidge finally pauses and takes a breath. “Right. Start with Garrison standard and old Imp arms, and anything suspicious-looking in general. I’ll see if I can locate likely hotspots with chemical tracing. Everyone got that?”

“Copy that,” Allura confirms. “Fan out in a square search pattern; I’ll upload a map to our suits. Pidge, you got Shiro and Adam’s to a different frequency, right?”

“Yep, and patched Krolia into our main one. She’ll relay to the rest of the Blade when necessary.”

“Let’s go, Paladins. We’ve got a party to save.”

* * *

Coran peers around the trees hiding part of the sound system’s machinery, looks away, and then does a double-take. Leaning just a little further around, he squints at the collection of boxes. This system certainly should have fire quintessence given the large amount of electricity it uses, but something just seems… off.

“Pidge,” he whispers into the comm, “Can I get a scan of about a five-meter circle around my coordinates?”

“Anything specific?”

“Quintessence, if possible, anything else that might tell me if there’s something wrong with that pile of boxes.”

His arm display pops up with a scan in several layers. Quickly he flips through most of them, sparing a glance at the quintessence one to confirm that it’s pretty much useless even at the resolution Jade is capable of. “Aha. Pidge, see that odd reading on the chemical scan?”

“Yep, that’s an Imp explosive signature. You good to disarm it?”

Coran glances up at it and opens his mouth to say yes when something catches his eye, and he winces. “Ah, one problem. Number Two and husband are heading straight for me.”

“I’ve got them, Coran,” Matt’s voice interrupts before Pidge can get past saying “shit,” “I’ve been looking for an excuse to ask them something anyway.”

“Better hope they don’t ask where Keith or Lance are. You’re a horrible liar.”

“Don’t _jinx_ it, Pidge!”

“Just tell them you don’t know their exact current coordinates.”

Coran waits until he can see Shiro and Adam turn, Matt folding both of them in a hug, before he darts into the mess of boxes. The bomb is wedged in between one of the speakers and a control box, requiring him to shapeshift his fingers a little flatter to be able to get any leverage on it. He half-watches them out of the corner of his eye as he tries to yank it out. Just pulling barely moves it a millimeter, so Coran shifts his fingers even smaller and plants a boot against the speaker. The bomb pops out and goes flying across the small patch of grass; frantically, Coran stumbles backwards in an attempt to catch it but ends up flat on his ass with the bomb tumbling to a stop just behind his head. He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that when it explodes, it at least has the decency to take him out quick.

Thankfully, it doesn’t explode. Coran carefully opens one eye and peers at it for a moment. The display on the front is blinking red numbers at him, quietly counting down. “Pidge, how long is five Earth minutes?”

“Uh, one-point-five dobashes?”

“Quiznack.” He grabs the bomb and stands up. Flipping it to open its back reveals a rather significant problem. “Small problem: this is an Imp bomb, but I don’t recognize the casing.”

“Does it have the Garrison logo anywhere?”

“That little G with your Dyson rings forming a spaceship around it?”

“Yeah.”

Coran flips the bomb around, scanning it for the distinctive orange G. “Ah, it’s on the side.”

“Okay. Uhm. Hunk? I don’t actually know anything about Garrison bombs…”

The comm crackles a moment as Veronica opens her mic. “I’ve got this. I helped defuse way too many of these back when we were originally working against the Éskh. Coran, you ready for me to guide you through?”

“Pidge. _Pidge!_ You _will not believe_ what Shiro just told me oh my _god--”_

_“Matt, shhh, trying to defuse a bomb here.”_

“Oh! Sorry. Need help?”

“I need you _off comms,_ Holt,” Veronica hisses. “Coran?”

Coran glances up to see Shiro and Adam walking in his direction again. “Uh. One moment,” he panics, glancing between the countdown timer and the newlyweds. He dashes to the other side of the trees, realizes that won’t be nearly enough because if he gets caught in a conversation with them, it _will_ blow up in his face, and looks down at his fingers that are still smaller than usual. _Ah._

A moment later, he’s slightly shorter, his nose is a different shape and missing a mustache below it (which he’s sad about, but desperate times call for desperate measures), and his hair is a dark brown. He takes a moment to thank the fires of fate that he didn’t wear any outfit with the Voltron symbol on it and takes a deep breath. “Okay, what’s first?”

“Open one of the panels, tell me what you see below it.”

A random panel has Coran groaning. They’re going to get blown up because of Earth’s inability to label anything in more than its own characters. “Symbols. Are these letters? They don’t look like English.”

“What symbols?”

“A star, an upside-down question mark, something that looks like a backwards English e with dots above it, and a neutral al.”

“I’m sorry a _what?”_

“A neutral tone al.”

Coran’s trying to think of another way to explain what an al is when Pidge comes to the rescue. “Altean letter; O with a dash pointing vertically below it.”

“Thank you. Hit the e, the al, the star, and then the question mark.”

“Beep-bop-boop-beep and disarmed.” He grins for a moment, flipping to check the countdown timer is off but is disappointed when he finds red numbers still blinking at him. “Partially.”

“Next panel?”

“Excuse me--”

Coran jumps five meters; he hadn’t seen Shiro walking up. “Ah! S-Paladin Shiro! What can I do for you?”

“Have you seen Coran around?”

Well, at least his hurried disguise seems to have worked. “I’m afraid not. Perhaps check over by the food tables? I’ve heard a rumor that he is very partial to the agranape topped with agriord slices.”

Shiro frowns, obviously disappointed that Coran managed to slip away from him. If only he knew. “Well, thanks anyway. Enjoy yourself!”

Shiro turns and heads back to Adam before Coran can respond, which is probably a good thing. “I’m certainly trying,” he mutters as he opens the next panel. “That’s a lot of wires.”

“How many and wired which way?”

“Four wires horizontally.”

“Any red wires?”

“One.”

“How many blue wires?”

“Only the one.”

“Cut the top wire. Wait, do you have anything to cut it with?”

Coran fumbles in his pocket for a moment and pulls out his multitool with a grin. “An engineer is always prepared! Especially at a party.”

“The amount of random things you all keep on you at parties is concerning.”

Pidge pops back in to drawl, “Well, when you’ve been at as many crashed parties as we have, you get habits.”

Coran hums agreement as he cuts the wire. The next two panels he opens have nothing immediately useful under them, but the third has more wires. “Vertical wires, Veronica!”

“Are there lights attached to any of them?”

“Nope.”

“Any blue?”

“Also no.”

“Okay, if any have red coloring or are just white, cut them.”

“Done, done, aaaand done.” The bomb beeps once, then the countdown stops blinking. “Disarmed!”

There’s a collective sigh of relief over the comm. “Thank god. Come give that to me,” Pidge says, “I’ll add it to the pile of stuff I need to analyze once we’re done here. In… an hour.”

“Strike that,” comes Keith’s voice, “ESAU team’s here, so Lance and I are handing off and going hunting for the other team. I’m dropping one of the custom guns with Jade; I can drop that off while I’m at it.”

“Great. Maybe you can make an appearance for cake cutting while you’re here.”

* * *

Black pops into the reception for two seconds to grab the bomb from Coran, appearing back at Lance’s side sans gun and bomb shortly after. They hold out a hand, and Lance takes it, reaching out to Scarlet for the extra boost and bracing himself for the aftereffects of teleportation. It takes him a significantly shorter amount of time to open his eyes this time. Next to him, Black drops the meld quickly for once, Keith’s eyes their own shade of purple once again. They’re close to the spot their only lead on Dancer’s team located them, on the other side of Bastion and standing just off the main road that leads to the Garrison proper. “Alright,” Lance sighs, “now comes the boring part.”

“I really hope you didn’t just jinx this.”

“Hey, with our luck, we don’t even _need_ me to jinx it.”

“If this blows up in our faces, you owe me a box of those cherry chocolates we had last week.”

“Deal.”

Even between the two of them, the map they grabbed from the other crew, and what help Jade can spare, it takes what Lance absolutely correctly calls three forevers before they get any sort of lead. He squats down behind an air conditioner on a roof and aims his rifle over it, peering through the scope. Five figures are sitting on top of a roof, two of them playing cards while the other three are training binoculars and sniper scopes over the road to the Garrison. “Keith, I think I’ve got them. They don’t have the same guns, but they’re definitely packing heat.”

“Got it.” There’s a moment of silence as Keith probably pulls up Lance’s location on his arm display. “I’ll drop in on the roof on the other side of the street. Any noise?”

The directional mike crackles through the comm as Lance turns it back on. There’s silence for a few moments before one of the figures playing cards sighs. “I mean, Carbine’s message was pretty garbled.”

The one with binoculars shakes her head. “I’m telling you, it was something bad. They haven’t checked in yet. We need to call Cascade and call this off.”

“Dancer--”

“Who has the final word here, Tinkerbell?”

Lance snorts. _“Tinkerbell?”_

“Shh,” Keith (Black? Lance has no idea right now) admonishes, but there’s a clear note of amusement in his voice. “That’s confirmation. Get ready to move.”

“Copy that. I’m in sniper position, moving on your call.”

“Final decision, I’m calling-- _Jesus Christ!”_

Lance grins as Dancer stumbles back, barely resisting shouting across, “he only answers to Keith.” The four other than Dancer have guns trained on Keith while Dancer herself drops her binoculars. Two quick shots drop the two that were playing cards, while Keith smashes the other two to the floor and brings his bayard up to hover a millimeter away from Dancer’s neck.

He _loves_ curb-stomp battles.

It’s the work of a few moments and a quick boost from Scarlet to vault over the street and roll to his feet next to Keith. Still grinning, he slaps a hand to Keith’s right shoulder. “Guess I don’t owe you chocolate, eh?”

“Bastards,” Dancer spits. “You think you’re saving this world? You’re just selling us to the aliens.”

Keith narrows his eyes, ears flat against his head and lavender eyes glinting. “Be mindful of who you’re talking to.”

Dancer laughs a bitter laugh, glaring right at Keith. “Oh, I know _exactly_ who I’m talking to, _Paladin Shirogane._ You and your brother are the worst of them all. You’re throwing us so deep in debt to the aliens we might as well be slaves again while the Colonel is taking up the necromancer’s title. There is no forgiveness for those who act as gods.”

“Undoing what we did to our planet is not acting as a god,” Lance answers with a raised eyebrow. “Do you not value your life, your friends’ lives, your family’s lives, at all?”

“My family _died_ in the Siege. Cascade was kind enough to point me at the right target: you. You, with your delusions of grandeur, playing as gods. We do not deserve what you would hand us on a silver platter. _We_ did this to the Earth. _We_ are the ones who should take the punishment from Mother Nature herself, and if that punishment is extinction, then _so be it._ We don’t need outside help, we don’t need _your_ help, just like we didn’t need the help of that _bitch_ of an admiral.”

Keith moves so fast Lance isn’t sure he didn’t teleport. He’s got Dancer’s flak jacket in his hand, dragging her forward so his fangs are inches away from her face. “You, _terrorist,_ do not get to talk about _my mother_ like that.”

“I would rather die than live in a world with your meddling in every corner of my life, Shirogane, and I won’t let you throw me in prison to rat out the only people that ever gave a damn about me.” Her jaw moves in an odd way that neither Paladin quite understands before she manages a grin. “Fuck. You,” she says.

A stun bolt hits her before she can bite down. Dancer collapses unconscious in Keith’s grip; Keith fishes whatever she’d knocked loose out of her mouth with a grimace, holding it like it might explode. “Really?” Lance gapes, _“Cyanide pills?_ What the fuck, do we live in a Marvel movie now? Are they going to start yelling ‘Hail Hydra’ at us next? What the _fuck.”_

Keith gently lowers Dancer to the ground. “Lance.”

“Right. Sorry. I just-- _really?_ And she was completely willing to give up her life rather than sit in a cushy Garrison cell. She believes in the Éskh mission that strongly. In what world does it make _sense?_ We’re trying to _help_ people, help _Earth._ How does any of this make _sense?”_

“I don’t know.” Keith stands back up and puts his hands on Lance’s shoulders. “Understanding her motivations completely is probably not something we’re capable of. The best we can do is try and ensure that no one else who lost people in the Siege falls to the same low.”

Lance sighs and leans into Keith, letting him wrap him in a tight hug as he buries his nose in his neck. “Since when are you the level-headed one?”

“Only because you need me to be. Come on, let’s call Veronica.”

Lance lets Keith be the one to call Veronica and secures the four Éskh members still out cold. It’s simple work, things he’s done over and over, on battlefield after battlefield, planet after planet, something rote that lets him focus on something else other than trying to figure out _why_ anyone would turn to the Éskhayklos.

Maybe it just wasn’t going to make sense to him, someone who had seen the worst the universe had to offer, had it try and suck out his very _soul._ If you’d been through that, if you had experienced the agonizing pain of your _fermions_ being _devoured_ by the only elemental force that mattered, then maybe you just had a perspective no one else could match, because why the hell would you try and incite pain in other people, why would you try and ruin one of the happiest days of someone’s life, when you had the intimate memory of the people you’ve lived in the pockets of, laughed and cried and raced and fought with and against, the people that have spent longer than anyone else in your own brain, connected on a level never thought possible, when you had the memory of them screaming _in your head_ as it devours devours _devours devours--_

Why would you not want to make sure that no one else felt that?

Scarlet poking urgently in the back of his head has Lance whipping his head up to stare across the city at the park, feeling the rising note of panic and _protect_ and _hurry_ and he lets himself fall into it, fall so far that ten become five become one become one thought of **STOP--**

* * *

“This makes no _sense.”_

Hunk scratches his head, looking over the buffet table and sighing. “I know,” he answers Pidge’s exasperated complaint. She’s standing next to him, hissing at her arm display in barely contained rage, while almost everyone else is standing around them in varying degrees of exasperated worry.

“We’ve been looking for the second one for almost an _hour_ at this point. If it didn’t show up while searching for the same chemical trace as the other one, then it has to be a different type of bomb, and I can’t figure out _what.”_

“What if it doesn’t actually exist?”

Pidge blinks for a moment at Allura’s question. “What?”

“What if there _is_ no second bomb?”

“The Éskh didn’t even know Keith and Lance were there; what reason would they have to lie about it?”

“But Cascade could have lied to Leader.”

Hunk mostly tunes out Pidge and Allura discussing the possibility of there not being a bomb, with Veronica, Coran, and Matt throwing in the occasional addition. Krolia is standing behind them with a look on her face that reminds him of his mother. They just finished checking the last two sectors of the park for anything that looked at all like what Coran found, but at this point, Hunk has to admit that the second bomb can’t be anything like the first one.

He wanders around, looking at anything and everything, while still keeping the bickering Paladins in his vision. Guests are slowly starting to trickle out now that they’ve had their cake, but there’s still at least a hundred people milling about the park. He can see Ryner poking at the trees, Romelle peering over her shoulder, while Tarinya and Bandor stuff themselves with cake. Lotor is squatting across the pond staring at the fish, Zethrid and Bersaan next to him. He can’t quite hear them, but he’s almost certain the Templar and Whisper are discussing attempts to catch the fish. 

The question gains an answer when Ezor pops out of the pond. She flashes a toothy grin and waves at him, which is somewhat lessened in effect by the flopping fish curled in her headtail. Hunk facepalms and walks to the edge. “Ezor…”

“Hey, Hunk! Guess what I got.”

“Ezor, I don’t think you’re supposed to be hunting for fish. There’s plenty of fish still on the buffet table.”

She pouts at him. “But what use is a pond if not for fishing?”

“Try drinking water. We can’t get everything from the abysmally low water table.”

Ezor flushes, the Shadonesh version of paling. “I’ve been swimming in your _reservoir?”_

“We filter it, don’t worry. People are known to throw stuff in it sometimes, and I doubt you’re the first person to go swimming. Who knows what’s at the bot--”

Hunk pauses, a sudden thought taking over his mind as he stares at Ezor, calmly sitting in the water holding a fish.

There could be _anything_ under all that insulating water, and even Jade would never pick it up.

“Ezor, I need you to help me _right_ now.”

Ezor frowns at him, dropping the fish. “What’s going on? Wait, does this have anything to do with what General Krolia was talking about being extra watchful for?”

Hunk nods. “I need you to look at the bottom of the pond for anything that looks like a bomb.”

Her eyes widen. “Quiznack. I’ll be back in a minute.”

She dives back under, and Hunk turns around to wave frantically at the others. Matt and Allura are in a visibly heated discussion that he is very glad he can’t hear, Coran and Pidge are trying to corral them into something resembling order, and Veronica is talking into the comm, so Krolia is the only one that manages to catch his eye. She barks _“Net raasake!”_ in her best command voice, one they’ve been trained to listen to from listening to her through four years of the war, and points in Hunk’s direction. Instantly, they all shut up and turn to face him.

And to face Ezor, who has appeared behind him with a grim face and a box that looks significantly bigger than the one Coran found in her hands.

“Hey, everyone,” Hunk says with as much nonchalance as he can muster, “guess what Ezor just found in the pond.”

_“Not_ a bomb?” Pidge asks although she doesn’t sound very hopeful.

“Not an _active_ bomb.”

Veronica groans. “Aaaaand you jinxed it.”

Three things happen in the next three seconds.

A large group of guests from the Garrison wave goodbye as they walk out of the park.

The motion reveals Adam and Shiro walking in the assembled Paladins’ direction.

The countdown timer on the front of the bomb blinks to life, counting down from ten seconds.

“Oh, _fuck.”_

Time slows down as Hunk reaches out with both hand and mind, knowing that there’s no way to disarm it before disaster strikes. He has to protect everyone, stop the bomb, that panicked need is urging him on, mixing with the urgency in the back of his head flowing from Sama until their thoughts are one, one goal, one goal that spreads even beyond them, and for an instant all ten, all five of them are one, one goal, one being reaching out to stop it.

Ezor reflexively throws the bomb away from her, but Voltron is faster. Even with two parts of them halfway across the city, they think **STOP** , and it slams into their barrier, tiny hexagons popping into place around it, folding it in. Their suppression powers come into effect just as the bomb slams into the barrier, triggering the full explosion.

The bomb goes off with barely the sound of a pop, no flash of light, no wave of fire and napalm spreading over the park.

Voltron drops back into their component parts as the remnants of the bomb hit the grass at their feet, all breathing a sigh of relief. Yellow rubs their hand over their eyes and lets their head hang. “Oh my god.” Green and Blue make noises of agreement, and Yellow can feel Black and Red having similar thoughts. They’re vaguely aware of Matt and Veronica making worried noises at them, while Coran is patting Blue on the back-- 

(--the suppressed light of an explosion and three figures with glowing eyes and Shiro starts running. She thinks _rewind_ and taps into the almost parasitic power she never asked for, that she rarely uses, but Keith wanted so badly for this day to be as normal as they could make it and she will do _anything_ for her children so she does, lets it go just as it gets exhausting with no one the wiser and takes a few steps away from the group to do something she meant to do months ago--)

\--and Krolia is stepping away from the group to talk to--oh.

Well, at least Adam and Shiro don’t seem to have picked up on the explosion. 

* * *

They don’t even wait for the ESAU team, Red grabbing Black’s hand and hanging on as they jump back to the party. They both scan the dwindling crowd before spotting Allura, making hand signals at them. _Under control_ , they say, followed by a _get over here._

“Thank god you’re back,” Pidge mutters as they slide into the circle. “It was about to get really obvious you weren’t here. Really quick, though, can one of you speedy bois get this out of here?” She gestures at the hastily swept up remains of the second bomb. It’s mostly a pile of ashes sitting on a spare plate, but there are some recognizable bits, the Garrison symbol sitting proudly on the largest piece.

Red snorts, and Black rolls their eyes. “Do you want it in Jade?”

“Might as well.”

Black nods and disappears for a moment. Red closes their eyes and drops the meld, satisfied that things aren’t about to blow up on them again. “So, Pidgeon,” Lance drawls as he opens his eyes, “what happened over here?”

Pidge shrugs. “Oh, you know, Coran and Veronica played Keep Talking and Nobody Explodes, Ezor went fishing, and we all played hot potato with a bomb. Pretty normal, all things considered.”

Veronica gapes at them. _“Normal.”_

The assembled Paladins merely raise eyebrows at her. “Vero, do you remember our conversion at the beginning of all this? This was _tame._ God, just Ulrion alone…”

Black reappears, dropping their own meld just in time to hear that remark. “That was a good one. Sure, we walked right into a trap, but the party before that was amazing, and that chase was actually the most fun I’ve ever had at a party.”

Allura bursts out laughing. “Of course, that _would_ be what you consider fun.”

Lance can tell what Hunk’s about to say by the sly smile on his face. “That’s not even getting into Olcruax.”

_“Olcurax doesn’t count,”_ Keith hisses, face flushing as red as the Voltron symbol on his jacket and ears flattened. 

“I dunno,” Lance shrugs, trying and failing to suppress a shit-eating grin, “I’d say it counts, even if the good parts happened the day after.”

Keith whirls and jabs a finger at him. “You don’t get an opinion on that.”

“Oh honey, I think I’m the _only_ other person who gets an opinion.”

“Ah- _hem,”_ Pidge practically yells. “As _fascinating_ as this discussion is, there’s only so long Krolia can keep those two distracted with whatever clearly emotional conversation they’re having. So: what the _hell_ happened during that first fight, Keith?”

“Yeah, I too want to know what had your _bayard derezzing.”_

Keith sighs and crosses his arms. “Have you had a chance to do any scans of the blaster?”

“No, been too busy looking for bombs.”

“Being hit with them was definitely not fun, but it took until I picked one up to deliver to Jade that I figured out what exactly they felt like. They had a note of corrupted quintessence in them.” Keith turns to Allura, the one who probably has the most experience with odd quintessence powered machines. “Almost like a mini-Komar.”

There’s a long beat of silence.

“Well quiznack.”

“Hang on,” Hunk frowns, “Not even the Imps had those. Where did the _Éskhayklos_ get them?”

“They’ve obviously been dealing in old Imp weapons,” Allura muses, “Looters of the remnants of the _Lühör Zäzh_ might have found something with Haggar’s schematics without us knowing. I don’t believe it would be too much of a stretch from some of the Druids’ abilities or their custom prosthetics. It does seem a bit… hypocritical.”

“Understatement.”

“Well, I’ll get Jade to run scans as soon as I can, but I doubt there’s anything more we can do, especially right now.”

Keith nods, slipping into his commander voice. “Right. New orders: enjoy what’s left of this party. ESAU has our friends under control, and we’ve got cake to eat--”

“Hey! Keith! Give me back my _shoe!”_

* * *

“Hey, Keith, come here a sec.”

Keith pokes his head into the kitchen about a week after the wedding. Lance is grinning at him with a tray of… something in his hands. “What are you making?” 

Lance sets the tray down on the counter upside down, taps it a few times, and flips it over. There, sitting in front of him, are five rows of perfect, heart-shaped chocolates. “Tada!”

“Not that I’m complaining, because I am absolutely not,” Keith says as he slides onto one of the stools, “but what’s the occasion?”

“Two reasons, actually. Go ahead and help yourself, I promised one to Hunk since I borrowed his molds, but I’ve already hidden it away.” 

Keith raises an eyebrow but picks up a chocolate. The taste is _fantastic,_ sweet milk chocolate poured over maraschino cherries that are still just juicy enough to pretty much explode in his mouth. He eats three before Lance can get another word in. The other just continues grinning. “Good?”

“Oh, _fucking hell_ , yes. I’m adding chocolate molds to our next shopping list. What’s the reason you’re giving me heaven in chocolate form?”

“Reason number one,” Lance says, grabbing one for himself, “is that I lost that bet.”

Keith pauses with a chocolate halfway in his mouth. “The bet about the second team? No, you didn’t.”

“Things _quite literally_ blew up in our faces, though?”

“I was only applying that to our half of the mission, not the exploding part.”

Lance shrugs. “If you don’t want to consider it a reason, then I still have my other reason.”

“Which is?”

Lance’s smile goes a little softer, and he leans across the counter to press a kiss to Keith’s forehead. “I love you.” Keith ducks his head in a vain attempt to hide his burning cheeks, but he’s got a similar smile on. Lance takes it as a cue to continue, letting his head rest against Keith’s. “Shiro and Adam looking so happy made me want to do something for you, to keep that joy spreading for as long as I can, and you really loved those chocolates we had when we got dragged into that Federation meeting, so I figured, why not? And hearts, because of Shirogane traditions and the fact that I can’t think of a better way to tell you I love you than giving you something that says I’m always thinking of you.”

“Sap.”

_“Your_ sap.”

Keith shifts slightly to press a kiss to Lance’s cheek. “Yeah. My sap. Thank you, kaalví.”

“Any time.”

Keith leans away slightly so he can look Lance in the eye. “Even when we can’t go a single party without a bomb threat?” he teases.

Lance rolls his eyes. “Even when we can’t go a single party, not even a _wedding,_ without a bomb threat.”

“A _what?”_

Keith freezes like a deer in the headlights, staring wide-eyed at Lance’s similar expression. Apparently, Shiro letting himself back in the house after his run had gone unheard, and now he is standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a very perplexed and concerned look.

_“Lance,”_ Keith hisses.

“Oops.”


End file.
